Winnowed
by L. Honoria
Summary: Lost in the woods, Belle stumbles upon Rumplestiltskin. AU.


~oOo~

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Finding herself lost in a woodland maze, Belle French impulsively chose the paths to which she drawn. She followed animal trails, narrow and winding through the cattails of dried ponds. She passed through brush made brittle over the winter, depleted of all but the will to cling to passersby.

Though she was lost, she knew not to panic, and soon emerged from the woods and into a clearing. At the center was a mass of leafless trees. Their branches were low and crossed over one another, creating a framed path. A circle through which one might travel. One that was rather mysteriously enclosed. Belle was compelled to know its spell.

Gathering her skirts, her spirits were also raised as she made to enter. It was almost as if something or someone were acting through her.

Belle continued on the path for some length until, suddenly, the young woman heard laughter from one of the hall-like trails, and turned to find an imp — or perhaps goblin — of some sort resting on a thick bed of leaves. She was certain that the space he inhabited had seconds before been vacant of life.

A screen of thin tree trunks backed him, woven together as though grapevines. Twined through the trees, she noticed, was a rose bush; all thorns and blood-red petals.

The imp was wearing a thick-skinned jacket, a leather vest and had tied a long felt scarf around his neck. His leather clad legs were crossed, and languidly he swung the sharp heel of a boot back and forth. "Well, you found me."

"F-Found you? Who are you?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

Not caring for his answer, she indicated that she would return to the path from which she'd just strayed. "I was just on my way back..."

"No, you weren't. You know it, I know it. I dare say even old King Neptune-a knows it." He gesticulated as though praising a fine painting. "So what's the sense in denying it? Your secrets out, girl."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I think you do." She watched as he gracefully uncrossed his legs and raised from his forest bed. He slowly crept to her, inched his way as an insect might, and her heart began to pound furiously. There was something about the goblin that she found attractive, alluring even.

She waited in silent appreciation for what was to occur. He was by her side, dangerously close. She could feel the warmth of his body, the leaves half under and by her feet shifting with his close steps, scraping over the tops of her slippers, her ankles. She could hear the leather of his clothes creak as they gave.

He brought a hand close to her face, ghosting over her hair, and she closed her eyes, wanting the pressure of his hand. She longed for it. Her heart had risen to her throat, constricting as he was drawn closer.

With a sudden impetuous strike, he reached into her drawstring bag and withdrew a handful of stones. "You were looking for dinner!" he exclaimed and giggled.

Before she knew what was happening, she found herself transported to a very dark room, one that was evidently underground, as the walls were made of dirt and had here and there eruptions of roots. The ceiling was as also almost a knot of rootstock, for their ends trailed downward and were in places twined around the furnishings of the room. There were buds of light against the roots and from the dirt walls, as though the surfaces held captured fireflies. Upon closer inspection, Belle could see that their shapes and light were made up of glass. Searching for the imp, she found him standing beside a small pot-bellied stove, placing the stones he'd taken from her bag into a boiling tea kettle. From his throat low delighted hums were emitted.

"I don't understand..."

"Few do, Sweetheart. I am going to make you a feast you won't soon forget."

"Yes, I imagine it will be most difficult, seeing as how you're cooking rocks."

"Tut-tut." He waved a finger in front of her face for her sass. "Not rocks." Animatedly his hands went to the air, as though drawing circles, and his voice became higher as he half-sang, "When you found them they were rocks but rocks they will no longer be. Just you see." Then he came to her and stood very near, slowly pressing her against the dirt walls. "Just." He tapped her nose once. "You." Twice. "See." Three times.

All at once she felt herself ease, ease over into him. Being this close to him, it was as though she had always known him and it had always been this way. Pressed against the walls of this sweetly scented root house where in a kettle stones boiled. She looked into his eyes, over his gold flecked skin, and found his gaze darting over her face. Want, wonder.

As though she'd accepted an invitation, one never written or sent, she placed a hand to the base of his head, feeling the curve there - where one bone met another, and his curls as they were caught by her nails.

Another hum issued from his closed lips and she watched as his eyelids fluttered closed, head lowered, meeting her touch. Receiving his unspoken approval, she brought her other hand to his face, caressing his cheek, his temple. He weakened with each stroke, as one enraptured, seized. Into intoxication, a slow, warm death-sleep. This power was new to Belle; she'd never before held such a key.

She liked it very much.

But she'd heard tales of maidens being seduced by goblin men, heard of their disappearances and fevered states. How they'd never been seen again. Did she want for that, to be lost among them, the countless women?

Before an answer presented itself, she helplessly watched as the imp pulled away from her, moving to the stove as the contents of boiling kettle caught fire, void of their life-giving water. With a flick of his wrist, the flames were extinguished, and he returned to her, more impassioned than before.

As she kissed him, she decided that perhaps being invisible to the world was not such a bad thing after all.

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~oOo~


End file.
